Something Wicked
by VampireNinja96
Summary: Everyone has a past, even the likes of Beyond Birthday. Behind his young yet knowing eyes, the seeds of something more sinister lurked inside him. Brilliant? Certainly, if that's how you looked at it. A series of one-shots about B's childhood. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1 See-through

Hey there, welcome to my first FanFic on Death Note. Specifically, our favourite, slightly crazy ex-Wammy's house resident, Beyond Birthday. This is a little series of one-shots, but they are in chronological order, so no confusion there. I loved B as a character, and I hope my interpretation of him as a child can do him justice. Enjoy, and please review!

**Something Wicked- Part I: See-through **

The child stared through his doll-like hair into the mirror in front of him. Propped up against the wall in a basement, a violent smash in the middle, the image of his face glared back, and he saw in it an obstinate refusal to give him the one thing he could not see. His own death.  
Because every time he looked at someone, he saw things nobody should be able to. He saw their name before they said a word, and he saw the numbers above their head that gave away the time and date of the day their life would end. Seeing death, nothing but death, ever since he could remember. In the eight years since his birth, he had already seen too much. His eyes portrayed a childlike innocence and a questioning that would never find an answer.  
And so he grew angry, aimed a furious kick at the mirror and shattered it, and he kicked it repeatedly, laughing as he did so, sending himself into a zealous stupor.

"Kyahahaha… Yeah, that's it!" he said gleefully. "I can sound like that…Mum's not here, dad's not here… I can sound how I like!"

But then his glimmering, fierce joy faded as suddenly as it had come. Yes… that was right. His father had been dead for a long time. And today, he had woken up and realised that today was the day his mother would die in a train crash several miles outside Tokyo while on a trip. Looking up into her fair face that morning, he knew she feared him, because when he interpreted the numbers in their entirety for the first time, he let out a scream that caused her to tremble. She had forced a smile, told him to stop the nonsense, and patted him on the head before closing the front door behind her. That was the last time he had seen her. It wasn't supposed to have come as a shock. He had known it since the day he could see, but still, the sudden awareness…

He did not dwell on it. He took it in his stride and buried his grief underneath his veil of madness. He knew they would be coming soon, to take him away somewhere. They wouldn't let him be.

"Why?" he whispered, and laughed again. "Why must I be this way?"

He heard a distant muttering coming from the house above. He had been right. There were several people up there, presumably discussing his future. He considered it a fair exchange, since when he climbed the stairs and set his beady eyes on them, he knew _their _future.

In between two women, was one man, middle-aged and grey-haired, balding, wearing thick glasses, looking inquisitively down at him with eyes that bore something the boy recognised as kindness. The man's name was Quillish Wammy. The man would not die for years. The man blinked, to break the silent stare down that had ensued the moment the boy emerged from the basement with shattered glass sitting in his trainers.

Wammy held out a hand. "Good evening young man."

The boy stared at the hand for a second, considering him, and grinned. "You are Quillish Wammy," he said.

"Why yes, I am. Do you understand what has happened? Why we're here?"

"I know! I know! Yeah, I know, I know…" the boy planted his thumb in his mouth. "Are you coming to take me away, Wammy? Where to?"

The boy's grin was transparent, and that annoyed him. He had practised this action so many times, hunched up in front of that stubborn mirror, and yet the man was looking at him as if to say that he knew the boy wasn't smiling in a natural way, like he was doing it wrong. Clearly, he needed to spend some more time. Yeah. And in front of- yeah- in front of a better mirror.

An exchange of nods took place between Wammy and the two women, one of whom muttered something into his ear. He nodded again, and smiled again, down at the boy, who was waiting eagerly for him to talk.

"Young man, would you like to come to England?" he asked.

"Why, is England important? Because here is important too. Yeah. Because mum and dad were once and I am here too."

"We can look after you there. You're special in many ways, and when your mum passed away, we thought you might like to come and play with boys and girls who are like you."

"Like me? Like, how?"

"They are clever, too."

"I'm clever… Yeah, I am. Mum said I was clever, but she was always looking worried. I never met other boys and girls. It will be fun?"

"Yes, I'm sure it will. But do you want to stay somewhere else until your mother's funeral? You must be very sad that she has gone, and anxious about your future."

The boy swallowed, and his grin dissolved in his thoughts. Was he worried? Did he worry? "Mum's gone, right? She is, and I can't stay here on my own. Adults don't like leaving kids alone, even clever ones like me. Take me to England, Wammy?"

He sucked nervously on his thumb and extended his arm out towards the man with his free hand; his fingers were curled towards himself, however. Wammy was made speechless with wonder as he reached towards the little boy, and clasped his tiny fingers in his hand. He squeezed it in silent reassurance.

"You will be B from now on," he said.

B nodded, and chortled, wearing the same transparent expression he had rehearsed before the mirror. They exited the house, B leaving it behind for the final time, leaving all his memories. His bed, upon which he had spent many a night lying awake, singing quietly to himself, unable to sleep peacefully. The kitchen, where he used to watch his mother cook, trying to not gaze at the numbers above her head. The front door, where in front he had sat with crossed legs, observing his father's back when he left for work, burdened with his briefcase.

Yes, all of those, and all of his nightmares.

On the plane, he swung his legs back and forth, peering out of the window, gabbling to himself in a curious whisper. "B… B is going to England."


	2. Chapter 2- The Young Curiosity

**Hi! This next part follows B's arrival at the orphanage and how his first meeting with everyone goes. I'm not sure how I did on this, so please let me know! XD **

**Enjoy.**

**Something Wicked Part II- The Young Curiosity**

The journey to the orphanage was uncomfortable and intermittent, but B was content to stare out of the car window and imagine what it would be like in his new home with the clever children. His wide eyes peered at the English countryside, watching it fly by and trying to count the lines in the middle of the road. He wondered if the other children would be able to figure out how many thousands of lines there were on the road from London to Winchester. If what Wammy said was true, they would. But when did adults ever tell the truth?

They pulled up to the biggest and most unusual building B had ever seen, old and quirky, with tall windows that would let lots of sunlight in and not leave the children in the dark like B had spent many of his days, hidden away from the world by his parents. His fingers tapped his knees impatiently, and he felt like getting up and running about to let off all this nervous energy.

"B, it's time to go in now," Wammy said. B didn't reply. "Don't worry. You'll get accustomed to things soon."

B nodded, and with a disconcerting silence, opened the door and leapt out of the car. After landing perfectly on his feet, he sprinted to the front door and banged on the front with both his fists, laughing. Wammy smiled and shook his head, and followed after the curious youngster.

"Hello?" B called. "Let me in, let me in, come on!"

"Be patient," Wammy admonished gently.

"But they are taking too long. Are they busy? They ought to recruit more staff so they can answer the door quicker to people who want to live here. It's simple."

"That's a good idea. But there aren't many staff who are able to look after such extraordinary children."

B had to agree, and when at last the door was answered by a female member of staff, he dodged straight past her and hurtled down the corridor. He heard the distant voices of children, shouting and playing. There was a wide grin on his face, but his eyes were as deathly expressionless as they had always been, awaiting answers and not expecting them.

"Come into the office first!"

At Wammy's voice, B immediately stopped, but didn't turn around. He clenched his fists, and pouted his lips.

"I want to see the children," he said quietly.

"Yes, but there are a few things to talk over before that. Come here, B, please." Wammy's voice was hiding a small inflection of wariness. He took a deep breath before turning the bronze handle of the door to his left, watching after the child.

B turned around, again with troubling speed, and ran back down the corridor, his blank visage not quite matching his swift movement. He measured Wammy for a moment, before deciding to pull the switch and turn on his smile. There had been a mirror on the aeroplane; it had made for good practice. There hadn't been any cracks. Thus his smile, in his own opinion, was verging on total perfection. Captivating others was a desire of his, and the smile helped, although he wasn't sure why some people recoiled.  
The office smelled distinctly of dust. Wammy took a seat behind an ornately carved desk and put his hands together. B's instincts told him that Wammy was going to say something important or bad, from the serious, studying expression he wore, those scanning eyes, constantly judging him, constantly. So he judged back, scrutinising with narrow eyes. Though B was scrawny and small for his age, he faced Wammy with no trepidation at all, as if he were a fully grown adult.

Within five minutes, the logistics were sorted out. It seemed B would have his own bedroom, the fourth one along the corridor of the second floor. A round, blue and red stained glass window made for the only interesting part of his room, and a single bed lay underneath it, a plain blue duvet on top. There was a chest for his clothes- not that he had any- and a box for any toys he would acquire. B didn't play with toys, and he thought it interesting that they would put a box for toys in a place such as this.

"Will I get to meet the others now?" he asked Wammy at the door of his room.

"You can, if you'd like to. They are in the living room downstairs, playing."

"At last. Something interesting to do. I wonder how they will treat me." _And I wonder when they will die…_"By the way… Is my name really just 'B'?"

"Yes, for now. You are a very special child."

"How boring, yeah, really boring… Oh well!" He'd come up with something so much better.

B pushed past Wammy and made his way to the living room. While turning the handle, he pondered on how he had never heard so many voices all at once.  
He was hit at once by the noise, the sights, the numbers and words above their heads.

Yes… so many deaths, all around him.

"Dead people, dead people…" he mumbled, habitually fixing his thumb in his mouth. "Yeah, you're all going to die."

"A new person!" one of the boys shouted. He was named Hamish Milner, he looked around seven years of age, and he would die in fifty-two years. His straw-coloured waves of hair framed two enormous cheeks, which enclosed a toothy grin. B was immediately repulsed, but said nothing.

The other children looked up. A few gave a nod of acknowledgement, and went back to whatever they were doing, and others nudged the person next to them and whispered things B couldn't hear. He grew angry that only one person recognised his presence. He ran over to one nine year-old Raine Sandyhill and kicked him over with surprising strength.

The boy tumbled to the floor, clutching his stomach, whimpering, and B tormented him from above, standing on his stomach and digging in his heel. He laughed while exercising his power, wearing dead eyes and a glimmering grin.

"Hi! I am B, and I'm your new housemate. Yeah, I know you don't like me, I can tell already, but I would recommend pretending to. It provides me with a good reason to be nice back. 'Cause I've never met any other kids, and this is fun, so don't spoil it by ignoring me!"

"Okay, okay, please, get off me!" Raine said, gasping.

"We are clear now. Good, that's good. Say hi to me, everyone!"

The children muttered in assent. They knew he was there now- he had made sure of it.

But one slightly older boy hadn't done a thing. He was sat in the far corner of the room, his face buried in a book, a pair of large spectacles balancing precariously on his freckled nose. B's eyes immediately flew to the top of his head. Floating there was the name Ace Shooter, which B conceded was not a fitting name for someone so scholarly-looking. He blinked away the numbers he saw that made his heart wrench just a tiny bit.  
Somehow, he felt a seed of nervousness blossom inside him when he faced Ace, who looked up in mild surprise and gave him a smile.

"I'll pretend I didn't see or hear that incident just now," he began, and laughed. "I'm A. It's nice to meet you."

B extracted his thumb from his mouth and reached out with an apprehensive hand, index finger outstretched. A smiled wider and shook B's finger. He held it there, letting B know that he understood, though B couldn't read minds and find out exactly why A understood him.

"I do it sometimes," B mumbled.

"Do what?"

He withdrew his finger and wrung his hands together, shifting uncomfortably. "I get angry with people when… when they don't do stuff I expect them to."

Why did he have to be this way? Why? Why could he feel something unhinged in his mind, little bugs crawling inside his head, scratching away at him, begging to be heard, pleading with him to let them take over, twisting and turning his screws just for the fun of it.

"Why do you think that is?" A asked an unusual question.

"Well…" he said something inaudible, that faded away into the air.

"Look," A said, "If you stay with me, or where I can see you, do you promise you won't get mad and hurt the other kids? I won't let that happen again."

"But- yeah- A, you just did, right? Wouldn't that make you a hypocrite?"

"Maybe I am. I'm not smart at all; I don't even know why I'm here."

"No!" B snapped. "If you're here, then you're clever. It's what Wammy said!"

A smiled as if he were a little comforted, and went back to his reading. B sunk to the floor, cross-legged, gazing up at A with inky eyes of intense interest, and he remained silent and observant for the rest of the day, his thumb firmly placed in his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3- B Stands For Backup

**Hi, thanks for reading so far. I'm really enjoying writing about B's character, so I hope that's reflected in my writing. Here's part 3, so enjoy and let me know what you thought. Au revoir! **

**Part III- B stands for Backup**

B had been at the home for a while now. He'd lost track of the weeks, being hooked up to machines, talked to by important men who wore glasses and kept pens on top of their ears, and tested, time and time again. He was given puzzles. They were all so easy, it hardly required thought from him. The only tests that he enjoyed were the detective ones.  
Criminals would commit their misconducts and then construct elaborate webs of deceit that no ordinary officer could handle, and when the case grew cold, Wammy would take B out of the play room and plant the papers in front of him to solve. Of course, every time, B would laugh manically and ask why they were giving him something so easy to decipher. These criminals… were stupid.

"Why do criminals leave such obvious clues?" B mused, swinging his legs back and forth, sat on A's lap in the playroom chair. "They do it so messily, allow officers to make links between one site and the next. Yeah, they're not too smart, are they, A?"

A pushed the pair of spectacles further up his nose and nodded. "But the detective can be at fault sometimes, too, B."

He tilted his head to the side. "Yeah, they're not too smart either. Even though the murderer was stupid and left clues, the detectives still couldn't do it. Who is more stupid, then? The detective or the criminal?"

"I know a smarter detective than any other."

"Really?" He bounced up and down. A pressed B's shoulders and forced him to sit still, and after a minute of squirming, the boy calmed. "Really, really? Who?"

"His name's L," A said, nodding. "He was the best child Mr Wammy ever found. He bought him back here, named him L and then L grew up to be the greatest detective who ever lived. He hasn't ever taken a case on and not solved it. Plus, he does it all on his own, without ever showing his face or telling anyone his real name. It's extraordinary." A's eyes shone with admiration, which had B feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

"You really like L, don't you?"

"I've met him once, when I first got here. He's still young himself, but incredible. I'll never live up to his standards."

"The greatest detective, huh? Incredible? Maybe one day, someone will make a crime even he can't solve. Yeah… that'd be funny." He sighed, and clapped his hands together. "Come on A… let's go outside and play instead. We can play criminals."

A paused in thought and a smile spread across his face, masking the emotion caused by talking of L. "You'll be the criminal and I'll be the detective, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, like always."

The boys leapt from the chair. The other children raised their heads momentarily, before disregarding them both and returning to whatever they were doing. B knew from the beginning that these children were too self-absorbed to care. Then again, so was he.

He grabbed A's habitually clammy palm with his own bone dry, and urged him faster. The garden was huge and rarely used by the children, so weeds and flower snaked the trees, giving them a wild look when they strained out from among the dark emerald grass. They burst out the door and the cool breeze of early spring gathered around their ankles. Even though the day was overcast, B was still enthralled by the garden as much as ever, having rarely experienced this taste of outside life.

Without warning, B pressed his hands to the taller A's chest and pushed hard, sending him tumbling to the ground.

"B," he said crossly, "Don't be so rough."

"I just killed you!"

"I'm the detective, not the victim."

"Oh, yeah, sorry." He couldn't help himself. Standing there, so innocent, A was asking for it. His eyes found their way to above A's head. The numbers shifted, and B's toothy grin faded.

"Is there something wrong?"

B bit his lip, but shook his head. "Catch me!" he yelled, and bolted into the undergrowth. He glanced over his shoulder at A, who shook his head, curled his lips into a smile, and got up to chase him.  
A was always forgiving him, unlike the other kids. When B pushed them, pinched them, asked them to do something interesting with him and A, they cried, or sometimes ignored him. A was the only one who would smile and shake his head, forgetting it ever happened and remaining by his side. It was advantageous to have a person in your life to back you up.

The thicket was filled with twisting branches, nettles and prominent roots, so B was forced to slash his way through with an arm in order to see. A shiver ran down his arm when it was pricked, and blood ran down, right up into his shirt, staining it was scarlet. He stared at it in fascination.

"How could a plant hurt me more than a broken mirror?" he said, and giggled. "The world's so strange."

"B? Where are you? I can't see you anywhere!" He heard the distant shout and burst into laughter.

"I'm not meant to tell you where I am! That's beyond stupid!"

It was becoming apparent, however, that B was getting lost. There were parts of the undergrowth he didn't recall from the last time they had played out here, the flowers weren't present because of the lack of sunlight here, the foliage was too thick to crawl through.  
When it dawned on him, he kicked a tree. He kicked it again, and again, and again, seething with the shock and frustration. How could he have allowed himself to get lost? When criminals escaped from prison and went into the forest, was this how they felt? When they knew a policeman was out there somewhere hidden and unseen, lying in wait for them. When they knew they would either stay lost forever or go out and get apprehended once again.

He placed his foot back down, and it found something on the ground that wasn't meant to be there. It was metal, heavy and solid enough to stub his toe on.

"What's this, then?" He bent low and picked it up. It really was heavy. A code was carved along the side of the barrel. The whole thing was covered in dirt and mould, and the trigger was rusty with age and disuse.

"B- I see you!"

Soon enough, A burst through the tangle of foliage, to see B standing totally motionless, fixated on the metal object in his hands.

A's face went white. "B, put that thing down!" He grabbed B by the shoulders.

"Get off!" B cried. "Look, A, it's a gun. Judging by the weight, I can still use it."

"Why would you want to do that? Listen, I'm older than you, so listen to me, okay? You put that gun away, because Mr Wammy would find it and throw you in jail, I'm sure."

"I'd never be stupid enough to let him find me," B laughed.

"Just put it back where you found it. You aren't meant to be a criminal, B. You're better than that."

"Huh?"

"Do you know why we're even brought here by Mr Wammy? Why we're all smart?"

"No…"

"It's so we can be successor to L and carry on his work when he dies." A frowned and turned B to face him, surprised that a few specks of blood dotted his pallid cheeks. "I'll never be good enough. I'm a complete failure, so you have to be the backup instead."

B had stopped laughing to listen, but started again and revealed the same toothy grin that had captivated so many others. He still hadn't perfected that, hiding his emotions. It was a furious expression. Not only because A considered himself to be a failure when he could match B in intelligence, but because he had suggested that B should be the one to _copy _L, be the backup that Wammy needed. Backup, him? No. Not ever.

He stashed the gun in the side of his trousers and tucked his shirt over. The cold metal brought up goose bumps on his soft child's skin, but it felt right, somehow. He'd find a way to store it somewhere where not even A could find it.

As they walked back into the house together, A hissed in B's ear, "I still think this is a terrible idea."

"You'll keep this a secret for me, won't you?" B insisted. He jammed his fist into A's stomach to affirm his point.

"I don't want to see you get into trouble."

B sniffed, and stared down at his fist.

He'd just punched the first person to say something like that without ulterior motive. Even his mother, that smiling woman, hid a tremendous torment with those shallow words. He had punched his boy, A, and A had simply smiled.  
For the first time in his life, did he feel truly guilty?

In the dorms, later that night, B crawled out of his bed, padded across the room and slinked under A's covers to lie beside him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into A's pillow. "I can't help being crazy. It's these eyes. I wish they'd disappear."

A murmured something in his sleep, but didn't wake. B threw back his head and sighed.

"But while they're here… I'll never be mere _backup."_

And the gun lay in swaddling sheets, buried in a locked trunk underneath the eight year-old's bed.


	4. Chapter 4- Trigger

Hi! Hope you enjoy part 4. It's a sad one, and if you don't like disturbing things... run, run far away from my twisted mind... and B's for that matter. :) Review please!

**Part IV – Trigger**

B was now eleven years old, a stretched-out form of himself, tall, lanky and face obscured by a mesh of inky hair. He had assumed a rather languid appearance, rarely showing any kind of emotion, instead reserving these unnecessary additions for show, for A and for the scores of people in glasses who came to visit him and observe his skills. The intelligence testing and detective work had thinned out- to his disappointment- and was now replaced by something he hated… Psychologists, psychiatrists, anyone sent in to make sense of what chaos was in his skull. All he did was talk! Talk and answer endless questions.

A, now a wiry, ruffled thirteen-year-old, seemed to be the only one who understood. Still best friends, in his opinion, they were rarely apart. It was a small source of comfort in such a world, but the numbers above A's head made B's heart contract with dread each time his eyes wandered upwards.

On this day, all the children had been gathered in the living room, cross-legged on the floor- except for A and B, who stood at the back, hands in pockets. A pushed the spectacles further up his nose and smiled down at B, who switched on the grin. They turned and stared at Wammy in wait.

"We have a very special guest with us today," Wammy said, a glimmer in his eye, "And a special few will receive the opportunity to speak alone with him."

"Who is it?" B demanded.

Wammy chuckled. "L."

The air around the room seemed to change. Nothing was said for a short while, as several children's eyes widened in excitement. They tapped each other and grinned their early grins, and eventually burst into chatter and hysterics.

"L, the real L! He's actually here!"

"They say he's the greatest detective that ever lived."

"I heard he's solved every case ever!"

"I can't wait to see him!"

B nudged A and smirked. "I bet it's us that are going to meet L. I bet you. I bet you anything," he said, trying to hide his delight. Not at meeting an honourable person… but at testing his own intelligence against L's. This would be a very interesting experiment.

A nodded, but looked doubtful. "Maybe. Maybe you, but not me." The numbers above his head gave a whirl and B's Adam's Apple bobbed nervously.

Sure enough, A and B were selected out of the fifteen or so children who were there. Amidst the outraged cries and heckles, B dragged A through the jeering crowd of their peers and escaped out the door with a thrilled Wammy, who complimented them both on their superior intelligence that permitted them to be the two who may succeed L and meet him in person.

Feet stamping on the dusty corridor floor, B's eyes wheeled around, his ordinary energy given an extra boost by today's news. L… that detective that A so admired. A would spend hours quizzing Wammy, asking anything he could about the legendary detective- at least, in the beginning. He seemed more solemn and lonely now. L had been the source of B's curiosity and anger for almost four years now. If L was a detective, he would have to prove he was better.

"L is in here," Wammy said with a warm smile. B nodded and bounced excitedly- though not as high as he once had- and A smiled gently.

B strode to the door and opened it without knocking. Without a care in the world, he sauntered in and planted himself on the floor, cross-legged, and signalled for A to come too. After A had joined him on the floor, they were both able to see L in his entirety.

B was shocked. L, a hunched young man in his older teens, was shabby, black haired and brilliant. With deep circles under his eyes, barely visible beneath his tangle of hair, his scrutinised them unsmilingly and nodded for Wammy to close the door. He cracked his knuckles, a seemingly unconscious action, and silently seated himself in the chair to the side of the room, in front of well-laden bookcase. He drew his knees up to his chest and planted his thumbnail barely inside his lips, which glistened with the sugar from a large pile of sweets on the end table to his left.

"This is A and B. Boys, this is L." Wammy sounded like a proud father. Or a proud scientist. B couldn't tell which.

L still said nothing. He scooped up a handful of wine gums and placed them inside his mouth in the colours' alphabetical order, a d chewed noisily with no clear adaptation to his particular social situation. B watched, fascinated, lost for words. Well… what would people such as the likes of B and L have to talk about? B had long since coined the phrase that the word 'private' carried with it a sense of neurotic egotism. The fact he was raised to _be _a neurotic egotist, and that L _was _one of these people, had B at a loss for conversation content. What surprises can you give a man who knows everything?

Suddenly, his mind hit an idea. But he would not reveal it until much later. It was a surprise he could give L. A surprise that would ruin him, a skill B had that L didn't. But it would have to wait. _Not now, _he chanted to himself inside his head, _not now._

Eventually, Wammy decided to speak in their place. B felt vaguely irritated at this; how was Wammy to know that a very loud conversation was taking place, between the narrow eyes of these three people in the room?

"A and B are our top children. True brilliance comes no greater, and I believe that either one of these two would do well in being your successor. A is gentle, an excellent reader, calm and collected, and very caring towards B. He's the first of the children, and one of the best."

L gave a nod. A shuffled nervously.

"And B…" Wammy shook his head, sighing. "B is nothing less than genius."

"You're strange," B said loudly, ignoring the numbers swirling atop the detective's head. "Like me."

A curl entered L's lips. "Yes. I sensed that when you came in. You're a strange one."

"I'm smart too. I'll be better than you, L."

No-one but L could sense the sincerity veiled beneath B's grin. It was a promise, alright.

"In time, you might be. Here," he said, offering him a sweet, "Do you want one?"

B cheered, "Yes!"

"You like sweets, too." L lowered his voice and said to himself in a soft murmur, "Two sides of the same coin, my friend."

"L," Wammy interrupted in a serious tone.

L looked up innocently, and shrugged. His back was still hunched, like he was under a great burden. "What is it?"

"While we're here, you may as well tell me the results of the case I sent you three days ago. I trust that everything turned out fine?"

Suddenly, as if given a boost of energy from an unknown source, L's face lit up and a sparkle entered his eyes. His face showed no smile, but his lips were pressed together, relishing in his own thoughts, and those dark shadows beneath his eyes were quickly irrelevant. A _tap tap tap _sound B noticed originated from L's fingers, which were drumming on his knees.

When he spoke, his voice changed to something focused, with ten times the energy.

"The case you sent me was of simple stock, Watari. Six murders, committed across the space of thirty days. There were two, one day after the other, and then ten days later, another two, and the final two came at random intervals. The criminal's attempts at leaving clues were rather half-hearted, too, as if he were making an effort in the beginning but began to waver after the fourth murder. It explains the random intervals of the final two murders, at least."

"But were you able to track down the killer, in the end?"

"Of course we were. Justice prevails, and the good guys always win, right?" He gave a small smile. "Roy Eisenburg is now on death row in America, awaiting the first step of the appeal process."

"Very good. Excellent as always, L."

"The money was a great help, too. I had considered buying a new computer, but now this is a reality."

Wammy merely beamed.

"I can't take this anymore!" A burst out. B blinked and looked in shock at his friend, whose teeth were gritted in anger. "I'll never be as good as L. Why can't you see that?!"

He stared them down, and ran from the room, slamming the door behind him.  
B's bottom lip wobbled, but his expression remained unchanged. What in the world had caused A's sudden outburst? He had suspected A had low self-esteem and a sense of inferiority, but this was beyond ridiculous. A never lost his temper. He was the calm one, the antidote to B. The single unchanging constant in B's world had changed.  
While he was processing this, L got up from his seat and bent over towards B, hand outstretched. B took it, and accepted the help getting up.

"I don't understand," he mumbled, and then remembered something. "The numbers… The numbers!"

"What is this child talking about?" L said mildly.

B wriggled out of L's surprisingly strong grip and kicked him away. His eyes flew to every corner of the room. Someone, anyone… _ DON'T LET HIM._

"B, stop this madness, now!" Wammy warned, trying to hold a squirming B.

"NO!"

He rammed his elbow into Wammy's ribs, and flew from the room, hurtling down the corridor. His feet were heavy on the stairs' floorboards as they creaked, one by one, under his weight. Their room was at the end of the upstairs corridor, the one that looked out at the garden and received the most charming rendition of the spring's morning chorus. It was the one with the circular window, where you used to fight for space to see the fireworks in November and it was the one with the blue carpet that felt comforting when you walked on it with bare feet and curled your toes into the softness.

He flung open the door, with L and Wammy hot on his heels, and stopped dead.

"So you found it…" he muttered.

A was trembling, holding the pistol to his head. His glasses lay on the floor, crushed beneath his feet.

No words could be exchanged between them. In some situations, there are no words and it is best to do what B did. He took a final glance at the numbers atop Ace's head, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement, as if to say 'It was good while it lasted', 'I guess you couldn't handle the pressure' and 'I'm sorry it ended this way'. After all, when you've known something all along, the effect is dulled somewhat, right? His bottom lip trembled again. He willed it to stop.

Ace sighed, and pulled the trigger.


	5. Chapter 5- Too Far Gone

**Hello! Welcome to part V. BB is so amazing, and this is when we see more of the kid's sinister side... Enjoy and review :)**

**PART V Too Far Gone**

"KYAHAHAHAHA! YES! I HAVE IT!"

B's cries could be heard throughout the orphanage, echoing throughout the normally peaceful corridors. He had done it, finally perfected an evil sort of laugh. He wondered why he couldn't quite grasp the delicate art of laughing like an ordinary person, and had recently come to the conclusion that he was not like others. He wasn't good, or kind, or any of that.

His breathing heavy with ecstasy, B rolled over in his bed and leapt out. The cogs inside his mind switched off his smile and his laugh, and he adopted what personality he was most comfortable with by his thirteenth year. The safe retreat of emotionlessness was never far away. Whatever Ace had managed to bring out of him, he had quashed along with any memory of having cared for him at all.

A knock sounded on his door. He hissed, frustrated, and shifted to the door to open it and find Wammy, stood with that same expression of kind curiosity on his wrinkling face.

"B! We have a person here who would like to talk to you. You have met him before."

B didn't respond. Instead, he opted to gazing at Wammy. He wondered if Wammy had looked at L in this same curious fashion. Did he find L impressive? Brilliant? Inherently good? It made his cold heart feel a little sick, thinking that his fate was to be a copy of this genius.

"It's L, B. He has come back to see you."

"Why?" he shot back.

"He is interested in you, B. He thought that you two could talk about some interesting things."

Did he now? B wringed his hands and nodded wordlessly. He was about to leave the room, when he remembered something extremely important. There had been a few small marks on the mirror, from the fingerprints he had left behind when, as he had done so many times in the past, tried to see his own fate above his head. They couldn't remain there.

"Hang on."

He grabbed one of his twelve neatly folded cleaning cloths, and a can of spray which he always kept at his bedside, and doused the mirror, wiping away all the fingerprints. It was at this point where he could not stop- the thought of getting rid of the marks had occupied his mind and he began to wipe every surface around him.

"What are you doing, B?"

"Just cleaning away the evidence." He turned on a smile. "It's really nothing to worry about, Wammy. It's… practice for later on."

"For when you become a detective like L?"

"Yeah. A _detective._" The tiny hint of a true smile curled around the edges of his lips, sore from the amount he bit them.

L was exactly as B remembered him. Sat all crouched up in the armchair, armed with sweets and treats and looking utterly exhausted, but with an alarming, unblinking alertness. He welcomed B with a nod and cool greeting, and invited the boy to sit opposite him, even offering him some boiled sweets, to which B gladly accepted.

The sweet still in his mouth, B said, "Why did you come to see me?"

"I wanted to see how you were progressing."

"Why didn't you simply ask Wammy? He knows all about me."

"Wrong. You know all about you, and only you."

B smiled. "You really are impressive."

"Not really. I just know when to use my brain in the right way, for the good of mankind, which brings me to explain the real reason I came here today. I have no doubt in my mind that you have not believed a word anyone has said, since the day you were born, and this conversation is no exception."

"You're absolutely right! Only I know the truth about everything, more than even you know."

"Oh? This is intriguing."

"Yeah. I only need to say one thing that'll make you scared, because I know you don't want to see what I'll become in the future."

L swallowed and dropped another three sugar cubes into his mug of tea. B relished at the sight of L, the famous detective, brought to even slight nervousness by someone like him.

"Enlighten me, B."

"Well,one word is all I need. _Lawliet."_

L said quickly, "How did you find out that name?" His eyes pierced B with something more than just morbid curiosity.

B tapped his brain, and then his shining eyes. "I can tell you your name, and when you'll die, if you like. You don't last long."

The detective took a deep, controlled breath and nodded to himself. "You could turn out either one of two ways. You could be the greatest detective that has ever lived, or the opposite entirely."

"I respect you more than anything, L. That's why I'm gonna challenge you."

Later on that evening, B shuffled back to his room. He had since been given his very own room, away from the other boys and girls. Without Ace there to keep him company, he'd go to the other children's' rooms and clean, tidy and watch them sleep, wishing he could keep them that way. Every time he thought of killing them, the numbers above their heads shifted. Every time he revoked that thought, they shifted back to their original position. How curious. He could control when a person died…

He practised laughing for a little longer, long enough so that the sun rose high in the sky up to midday.

"A… I knew you would die from the very start. I can't save anyone. The only thing I can do is… give them what the God of death wanted them to have. When they are fated to die is when they need to go. If someone kills them, or if they die from illness it will probably be painful. I will help to make it less so."

He cracked his knuckles and reached under his bed for the old relic of his years with A.

"And also… It'll be a good game, seeing how long I can go without _him _catching me. I respect him the most, but I'll be better… Yeah. I think it's time I left this institution."

The gun heavy in his hand, he buried it in the side of his baggy trousers and pranced out of the house, as quickly and full of curious energy as when he first arrived, a young boy of eight.


	6. Chapter 6- Encounter With Death

Hello! At last, I've written part VI. Sorry for the wait! Please enjoy, vote and comment!

**Part VI- Encounter with death**

B licked his fingers and dipped his hand into the jar of jam once again, scooping up the remainder of the condiment and planting it in his watering mouth. No matter the occasion, jam was always an excellent solution to life's problems, especially when life's problems consisted of planning murder sprees and trying to find a place to sleep for the night. Sometimes he thought of how Wammy might be missing him, but he severely doubted it. Everybody around him knew he was a psychopath from the outset, even if they didn't say anything to him personally.

Over the course of three weeks, he had left Wammy's house and made his way to the centre of the city of Winchester, using the extensive amount of money he had (fraud, for a genius, was simple) to find places to sleep for the night. Lying about one's age, for a genius and a psychopath, was so minor it barely necessitated a second's thought. Hotel beds were comfortable and solitary, but the presence of so many people surrounding him felt somewhat suffocating. He couldn't practice his laughing anymore, either. But who needed to anyway, when his was that perfect?  
Also, to his disgust, he would have to wait four days for his box set of limited edition Akazukin ChaCha manga books arrived.

He was a genius beyond comparison, and he was bored out of his mind. And, as the future would tell it, this was never a good thing.

As B sat cross-legged on the floor, building a complex structure with red lego, something in his periphery attracted his sharp notice. It was something small and black, falling fast from the noon sky, and it looked like it would land outside the hotel entrance. He immediately crushed his lego model with his bare foot and got to his feet. Having realised he was still in his boxers, he pulled on a black, long-sleeved t-shirt and some dark jeans, took a glance of himself in the mirror, and skipped outside to inspect this odd black object.

Upon closer inspection, it was a book. A notebook, in fact. Inscribed on the front, albeit in Latin, was the words: _Death Note. _He grinned his toothy grin and picked this death note up. The cover was leathery and B, being an intensely tactile person, pawed at it for a moment before opening it to see a note scrawled again in Latin, in the front cover.

_The human whose name is written in this notebook will die._

"What kind of amazing invention is this?" he whispered, dangling the notebook in front of his face between two fingers.

"It needs some improvement."

B didn't flinch at the voice. He turned around to see a horrific phantom in front of him; it looked like the sort of creepy clown he would see in a horror film, with googly eyes and long, spidery limbs, so incredibly ugly yet playful-looking. He bowed low and grinned up at it.

"What's your name?" he asked it.

The being erupted into gales of laughter. "You're certainly a strange one. The name's Ryuk, kid. Pleased to meet you. What do they call you?"

"…Beyond Birthday." He smirked at his own invention. 'B' was simply too plain.

"Fancy name. But I know it's not your real name. I can see your name, you know, above your head, and when you are going to die. I come with that death note, by the way. It was _mine."_

B almost lost breath. "You have the same eyes as me!"

"What?"

"I can see people dying, all the time! I can always see their names. I want to kill them when they have to die, maybe even before, but I…"

Ryuk chuckled, clearly surprised. "A crazy murderous kid with the eyes of a shinigami…"

"Like, a death god? So, I'm like a god!"

"Absolutely. You just write someone's name in that book, and they'll just die, right there and then. No fingers lifted."

He could hardly contain his delight. He was an ethereal being, born with the eyes of a god of death. And now one had dropped a notebook of death right before him, and appeared to him alone. He knew it… all along. He was not like other humans, he wasn't ordinary. All those electrodes, psychometric tests, they were all for nothing. The answer was not of this world, and no logical human would ever consider something supernatural. Least of all, that infernal Lawliet.

With this, he could win.

Maybe he would test it, just once, but not on Lawliet.

A man walking by, by the name of Bruce Francis, was the perfect target. Obviously homeless, alone and down, B thought that he'd probably be doing this poor man a favour by killing him off.

He extracted one of the pens he kept in his pockets at all times, and scrawled Bruce's name in the death note in his perfect handwriting. Within forty seconds, Bruce violently clutched his chest, and collapsed to the ground in agony. A few people gathered around his writhing, moaning body, before he cried out and fell still, his face contorted in pain.

B's heart was racing. It was easy, it was that easy.

"So, what do you think?" Ryuk asked, impressed.

"This notebook makes killing people easy, convenient. It makes it practical. But, maybe I can give you some advice, if that's alright?"

Ryuk blinked in shock, but nodded with a smile still painted on his ugly face.

"You should write it in English. That way, ordinary people can use it. I'd write more rules in it, too, if you do not want to be bothered with explaining things here countless times. I can see a lot of flaws in it, too. If one had an instrument of death, one could kill effortlessly, but what would be the hardest thing about it? Finding a place to hide it. Cannot have just anyone picking this up, can we?" B sighed and handed the notebook to a stunned Ryuk. "I won't take it."

"Why not? I've never seen a kid so perfect for this notebook."

B grinned and laughed. "It would be so boring, killing people like that! I wanna do it with my bare hands, fair and square."

And so, Ryuk the shinigami disappeared into the distance. B collapsed down, but got up again, confused and disorientated.

"How did I end up here?" he muttered. He brushed the dust from his clothes, and returned to the hotel room, to restart the model made out of blood-red bricks.


End file.
